


No One is a Lost Cause

by Anonymous



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Romance, Suicide Attempt, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Charles Xavier meets a boy in a precarious position at the edge of a bridge.TW: Serious thoughts of suicide and gender dysphoriaThe boy in this fic is never named, so it can be read however you fancy, whether that be a reader insert, some weird sort of au of Peter, or an original male character. It's really just a vent fic, you know how it is.
Relationships: Charles Xavier/Original Male Character(s), Charles Xavier/Reader, Pietro Maximoff & Charles Xavier
Kudos: 37
Collections: Anonymous





	No One is a Lost Cause

The New York air was silent, finally, save for the rushing of the water underneath the bridge. It was peaceful in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time, despite the fact that his feet were dangling above an eighty foot drop down to the water below. He should have been afraid. The pounding in his chest should have been borne from fear, not anticipation. 

This wasn’t exactly how he would have chosen to do this; his first choice would have been pills- he certainly had enough of them to ruin his body one last time- but in the end he’d decided it wasn’t worth the trauma he’d inevitably cause his mother when she went looking for him and found a rank, vomit-covered corpse instead. At least, he hoped this would be less painful. He’d left a note, just to be sure she wouldn’t go searching for him only to later discover that he was dead. Best to rip the bandage off quickly, right? 

“Lovely night, isn’t it?” 

The voice startled him so bad that he nearly slipped. He’d thought he’d been obscured enough, but on the other side of the railing, a bald man in a wheelchair was staring up at the stars, as drowned out in light pollution as they were.

“What?”

“I said it’s a lovely night.” The man repeated. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“I… yeah, I guess.” He wondered if the man was senile. Here was a kid clearly prepped to jump off a bridge, and this guy comes along and makes small talk. He must not have known what this kid had come here to do.

The man looked down at the boy barely balanced on the edge of the bridge. “Why don’t you enjoy it from this side?” He said carefully. “Wouldn’t want you falling.”

Great.

“Go away.” He turned back to the rushing water, avoiding the man’s piercing gaze. “We can both pretend you never saw me, and you can go back to your life.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Said the man. 

The boy shut his eyes. “Please?” 

“You’re not alone-” 

“Don’t give me that speech.” He said. “Please.” 

“I was not planning to lecture you. I was going to say you’re not alone in how you feel. I understand how different you think you are.”

The boy leaned back. He felt exhausted. 

“I’m professor Charles Xavier.” The man introduced himself. 

Suddenly, the boy was rather embarrassed. The light was bad, but still he should have recognized the man. Could he just leave so he could jump already?

“I know who you are.” He said. “I’ve seen you on TV.”

The professor leaned down as much as he could when there was a railing separating the two. “Then you know why I’m here?” 

The boy was silent for a moment. “You’re going to ask me to join your school to teach freaks how to look like they’re not completely broken.” 

“You’re not a freak. And you’re not broken. I can help you.” Said the professor. 

Suddenly, it might have seemed, if the elder was not a telepath, the boy laughed. “You don’t understand the half of it.” 

“Don’t I?” Said professor Xavier knowingly. 

“No, you don’t. Please leave.” 

“For what it’s worth,” Xavier said. “I do believe you’re a boy.” 

The boy’s stomach flipped, and he whipped his head around to meet the professor’s eye, who was looking a little smug and a little sympathetic. His face was hard to read. “How did you-” 

Charles Xavier tapped his temple. “I know things.” He said. “Please, come talk to me. At a safe distance from the edge of the bridge. I want to help you.”

He desperately wanted to let himself slip and feel just a moment of flying before he could finally be at peace. The thought of it was intoxicating. But if he fell right now, he’d never speak to another person who called him “he”, who knew that despite this body- this fucked up, wrong body- that he was born into, he was a boy. 

He stood up, and swung his legs over the railing. “Okay.” He shoved his hands in his pocket. “Now what?”

Professor Xavier smiled. “Walk with me, will you?” Which, the boy thought, was ironic, as he suspected the professor wouldn’t be walking anywhere. He followed the man in the wheelchair away from the bridge, silently mourning his lost opportunity. Oh well. There would be others. 

“As cliche as it may seem, you are not as alone as you think. In any aspects.” Said the professor. “There are others like you: those who were born in a body that does not match their minds.” The sidewalks were empty at this time of night, and what of the street they could see was illuminated by streetlights.

“So there are other crazies? Great.” Said the boy. He was cold. He was always cold. He wanted to be warm. 

“You aren’t crazy. This is real- everything you’re feeling.” Professor Xavier stopped in the sidewalk and turned to him. “I know you weren’t just on the edge of that bridge because you’re different and you’re a mutant. Talk to me.” 

He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t even know you.” 

“I know you.” Said the professor. “I know I can help, that I can offer you a home where you can be a mutant, and you can be a boy, and these things will be normal. But I can’t help you unless you let me.”

He considered his options, which were this, or quite literally jumping off a bridge. There was suddenly a lump in his throat. “It’s-” He examined his shoes. “It’s hard to talk about.” 

“May I look?” He asked. 

“In my head?” Professor Xavier nodded.

After a moment of hesitation, the boy nodded softly. He was vaguely aware of Professor Xavier lifting two fingers to his temple, and then of a sharp gasp from the older man as he undoubtedly uncovered all of the turbulence in his brain. 

“I’m so sorry,” He said. The boy looked at the elder now. There were tears welling in his eyes as he stared, seemingly looking right through the boy’s head. He must have seen everything; all the deep, cutting sadness, and the frustration when there was no way to get rid of it. The days spent in bed, the evenings spent crying. “I feel your pain.” He said. The tears fell, streaking down his cheeks and leaving paths on his skin. “I know how horrifying depression is. I will help you out of this, I promise.” 

Any other night, he would have wanted to scream and sob, but right now he felt so empty. “I don’t think there’s anything that can help me, professor.” He said numbly. “I’ve tried therapy and the medications. I’m a lost cause.”

“No one is a lost cause. You are not broken. You’re simply hurting.” Said the professor kindly.

“I don’t know what it’s like not to hurt.”

Xavier smiled softly, gently. “Then I suppose I’ll have to teach you.”


End file.
